


Jeans

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fulfilling a request, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Papyrus goes for the gold, Plot What Plot, i am filled with sin, noisy, pinning, slightly dom papyrus but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus makes a suggestion, and you're more than happy to play along. Fluffy, fluffy smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> Another request, another skeleton porn fic! Sorry if you subscribed because of 'I'm Feeling Fine, Kid', because most of my output is gross porn lol. Also gonna apologize for my 'loud' thing, 'cause all of my smutfics are gonna have it. ^-^; Hope you like it!

  “I WAS THINKING I COULD GET ALL UP IN YOUR GRILL.”

  You put down the book you were reading, confused.

  “AND BY GRILL I MEAN... WELL, YOU KNOW.”

  You didn’t, and your expression made that obvious, eyebrow quirked, looking up at Papyrus who couldn’t have been redder. You had both seen each other in totality, undignified and naked, but he was nothing if not bashful.

  “YOUR VAGINA.”

  You chuckled softly, gently prodding him with your foot from you position on the couch, reclining, legs hooked over his. “That phrase doesn’t mean what you think it means, but yeah, I could go for a quickie. What did you have in mind--”

  He responded by looking you dead in the eye, still red, still blushing, and making a ‘V’ with his fingers. Then, with great severity, he slowly brought his tongue up one finger, down, up the other, then back down to settle in the gap between, gently lapping at the space, leaning over you, one thin finger hooked in the waistband of your pants.

  That got the point across. You nodded a ‘yeah’ and at the confirmation his confident, domineering demeanor shattered immediately as he barked, “WOWIE!”

  The book was discarded, and you set about taking off your pants, hands fumbling at the buttons in eagerness, motioning for him to turn off the television because, pretty though he was, Mettaton flogging his goods did not inspire arousal.

  “HAVING TROUBLE?”

  “Yeah,” you panted, straining against the buttons, “don’t worry about it.”

  He held his chin in thought as you continued. Curse these jeans!

  “I COULD TEAR THEM OFF,” he said innocently, genuinely.

  You laughed, high and gently mocking, which was a mistake, because in doing so you had issued a challenge. “C’mon,” you bluffed, “you can try--”

  After gently cupping your face, he immediately grabbed one half of your waistband and dropped his other hand to tug at the pocket on the opposite side. Before you could protest he split the fabric, tearing at it like it was crepe paper, his constant, restrained strength more apparent than ever. He looked up to meet your eyes, expecting the praise he so richly deserved.

  You looked dumbfounded, torn jeans, splayed, bottom half totally exposed. He could crush you, if he wanted to. But he didn’t, and he never would, the act sending a little pang of fondness through you.

  “OH. YOU UH, WERE JOKING, WEREN’T YOU. WHOOPS. SORRY, I ASSUMED...” He looked away, scratching the nape of his neck. “B-BUT I’LL BUY YOU A NEW PAIR. WAIT, I’LL DO YOU ONE BETTER! I’LL GET YOU TWO NEW PAIRS! YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO MOVE FOR JEANS, I PROMISE!”

  You fixed your slack jaw, shaking your head a little to ground yourself in reality. “Do you have a pair I can borrow after we’ve done?”

  “I HAVE THE FINEST COLLECTION OF BOOTY-SHORTS IN THE LAND, YOU MAY HELP YOURSELF.”

  That would do.

  You discarded your ruined pants, already slick from the display, and let him do as he wanted.

  He scooted his long body to your open legs, flat on his ribs, and planted a smooch on the inside of your thighs. He gently dragged his teeth along the soft flesh, always soft, always sweet, sending a shiver through you, moving slowly upwards until he was positioned inches away from your swollen clit, warm breath puffing against you, forcing little twitches. Slowly, tentatively, carefully, he pressed the flat of his conjured tongue to the nub, pleasant, slick warmth enveloping it. He then withdrew immediately.

  “BOOP!”

  You laughed, the moment ruined. “Don’t boop! Booping isn’t sexy!”

  “HOW DARE YOU. IT’S THE SEXIEST. IT MUST BE, I’M DOING IT.”

  You went to laugh again, gently squishing the sides of his face with your thighs in a show of affection, but were cut off as he resumed in earnest, gently probing and swirling, poking and prodding, clumsy but hard. In response to the jolt of stimulation, you clamped your thighs around his skull, muscles tensing involuntarily as the wonderful feeling forced you to move.

  “You alright down there?”

  You were greeted with a small thumbs up and a squashed ‘MMF’, the vibrations tickling your folds, and you could feel his shoulders shuffle as he giggled, red welts forming on the outer part of your thighs as his fingers scraped the flesh unintentionally. It wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, actually. His tongue peeped into your entrance in exploration, drawing a moan out of you as the thick, unnatural muscle stretched your walls. He huffed delightedly at the taste, and your response, shifting uncomfortably on his front to accommodate his erection, pressing needfully into the fabric of the sofa in a primal bid for stimulation. He probed deeper now, withdrawing and pushing forcefully, fucking you with his tongue as he slowly tugged at himself, the lewd noises spurring you on as you writhed. He pulled away, puffing, darting his arm to the side of the sofa before it re-emerged with a handful of tissues, which he dumped beside himself. The confusion in your lidded eyes got the point across.

   “I HAVE TISSUES BECAUSE I AM VERY SMART, AND PREPARED FOR THIS SITUATION. NOT BECAUSE I HAVE STAINED THE COUCH IN THE PAST IN A FIT OF MASTURBATORY HUBRIS. NOPE. NEVER. REALLY.”

  “’Masturbatory hubris’?”

  “YES. THAT THING I DID NOT GET SWEPT UP IN. AND DID NOT HAVE AN EXTREMELY AWKWARD CONVERSATION WITH SANS ABOUT, WHICH I WOULD LIKE TO FORGET, BECAUSE IT IS QUITE THE BONER-KILLER. AS IS THIS CONVERSATION. SO IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND...”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Papyrus resumed, pulling his tongue up, over and down your slit as you keened at the touch, accounting for your movement, face following your form. You could feel his left shoulder shuffle against your inner thigh as he jerked himself off, other hand still firmly clinging to your flesh to ground you, grunting under his own touch, his movements becoming sloppier as he pumped. His tongue pressed into your clit from the underside, casually poking a finger inside you, the wetness guiding him as you let out a strangled moan, knuckles white as you pulled at the fabric of the couch in a death grip, fingers burning as you strained. The feeling was building, shuddering, pulsing and wonderful. Papyrus was propped up on his knees, spine dipping down to tend to you as he fucked himself, occasionally pausing in his lapping to look you up and down, jaw open in hunger. In one final, ravenous movement he crammed his face into your groin as he swirled firmly at your clit, thrumming his tongue, pinning you down as you came violently, voice cracking and gasping as you rode it out. You swayed your hips back and forth absent-mindedly, grunting from the comedown, Papyrus devoting both hands to himself now that you were satisfied, mewling, eyes clamped shut.

  “OH GOD, AUGH, OH GOD, O-OH _WOW_ , I’M--”

  You heard him cum, panting, crushing out long, low whines as he pleaded out ‘thank you’, staring at your legs, your groin, finally finding release, rapturous, rapturous climax. He slumped on top of you, both of you hot and spent. You gave him another, altogether shakier, squeeze.

  “... OH MY GOD, _ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS?_

  “What’s up?” You propped yourself onto your elbows, feeling the cool air on your exposed groin as the excitement died down. “Is something wrong?”

  “I MISSED THE TISSUE! MY PERFECT PLAN HAS FAILED, _SOMEHOW!_ ”

  You laughed, breathless and high, vaguely aware of the warm, gooey sensation on your inner leg, some of it dripping onto the sofa underneath.

  “THIS IS THE WORST. NOT THE THING WE JUST DID, OBVIOUSLY, BUT THE MESS. WHY DOES THIS PROCESS HAVE TO BE SO STICKY?”

  “You could have waited until we got to your bedroom. Put down some towels.”

  “BUT I PROMISED TO GET UP IN YOUR GRILL! DO YOU THINK I WOULD SAY THAT, THEN PROCRASTINATE? HONESTLY.”

  You flopped back onto the couch, shirt stained with sweat, feeling it trickle down your back, Papyrus growing more flustered with every passing second.

  “Shower?”

  “SHOWER.”


End file.
